If Only (GxG)

Chapter 42 Twenty & Summer

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A/N
Hi everyone! Life has gotten pretty busy lately, and I need some time to think about how this story will end and how the next one will begin. As I mentioned near the start of this book, most of it was written a long time ago. Now, I'm just freewheeling!
I want to have the first few chapters of the next story written before I finish this one with you all. I don't want to leave you hanging! (It'll make more sense later 😉)
As always, I love hearing your feedback, comments, and suggestions!
—Lucky x

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Alison's POV

Birthdays always sat strange in my chest.

Like a bruise you forgot about until someone pressed on it.

I never knew exactly how to feel about them—just that I hated the slow creep of the date as it approached, the pressure to perform happiness, the way it always seemed to hold a mirror to everything I hadn't done yet. Everything I wasn't.

People talked about birthdays like new beginnings, fresh chapters, celebration. But to me, they'd always felt more like ghosts. Quiet and lingering. Laced with memories I didn't ask for.

The sound of my mother crying in the kitchen when I was too young to understand. The missed calls that never came. The year George bought a cake and we lit candles anyway, trying to fill the silence with something sweet.

And the worst part—the part that never quite eased, even now—was the reminder that I was always a little behind. A year older, but still catching up. Still chasing. Still pretending it didn't matter that I'd lost time. That I wasn't where I was supposed to be.

But this year was... different.

Not easy. Not perfect. But softer. Less sharp around the edges. It didn't feel like something I had to survive.

It still carried the ache, the flicker of unease in my ribs—but now there was warmth in it, too. A kind of quiet steadiness I hadn't known I'd been missing.

Because this year, I wasn't alone in it.

The sun had barely hit its stride when I heard the knock on the front door.

Not a casual one either—deliberate, knuckle-to-wood. The kind that always managed to sound like Blake even before I opened it. Steady. Certain. Like she knew she'd be let in.

I padded over, still barefoot, hair wild from sleep.

And there she was.

Blake stood on the doorstep holding a takeaway coffee in one hand and a small paper bag in the other, already dressed in her usual brand of effortless elegance—wide-legged black trousers, a cream jumper tucked neatly at her waist, dark hair swept up like it just happened to fall perfectly that way. Her lips curved into something close to a smirk when she saw me.

"Happy birthday, sweetheart," she said, her voice low and warm, like it knew exactly how to find the cracks in my armour.

"Happy birthday, tereso," she said, leaning in to kiss my cheek.

I smiled, stepping aside to let her in. "You're early."

"I'm entitled. It's your birthday and I missed you."

That made my chest tighten in the best possible way.

Rodger came bounding in from the kitchen to greet her, tail wagging so hard his whole body wiggled. Blake crouched briefly to pet him, whispering something in Italian I couldn't quite catch.